Echo
by Sapphire-Raindrop
Summary: To be honest, I can't recall the first words I ever spoke to him. Perhaps I said nothing, because it's quite a challenge to speak with a snowball plastered to your face. Whatever the case was, I knew in that moment that he was the most insufferable boy in the entire town of Burgess. My name is Charlotte Williams, and his name was Jackson Overland.


_**..:Echo:..**_

_a Rise of the Guardians fanfic by Sapphire-Raindrop_

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Echo: to be repeated or reverberated after the original sound has stopped.

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**Chapter 1**

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Charlotte Williams leaned back against the sturdy wood of the wagon, but didn't look up from her book, even when the wagon slowed to a stop. The book's cover was fresh and new, but the pages were worn from use. Lovingly so, Charlotte claimed, and it was true. No one loved books more than Charlotte. Well, perhaps her father, but that was to be expected.

Her father, Edgar Williams, had adored books from a very young age, and had been lucky enough to apprentice himself to a prestigious bookbinder at the age of nine. From that day forward, he trained to one day make a living at restoring and creating the bindings of books.

It was her father's work that had caused them to move around so often. In order for him to more fully establish himself, it was necessary that he travel to various parts of Pennsylvania. Having his work present in various towns allowed for news of his skills to travel much more quickly. Her father was planning on sending some of his work to the Academy of Pennsylvania soon, and Charlotte couldn't wait for that day. The Academy was said to have a wonderful library, stocked full of books on all the possible subjects in the world. Oh, to have that much knowledge at one's fingertips! It was Charlotte's idea of heaven.

It also meant that she had to endure the inevitable uprooting that came with moving on. The longest they had ever stayed in one town was two years, and that was because Charlotte became very sick during the winter of her sixth year, and needed a year to fully recover. That long year of staying indoors bred Charlotte's appreciation of books, and she had been hopelessly hooked ever since.

"Charlotte!" her mother's voice called, and Charlotte was startled out of her favorite poem, her eyes leaping up to stare at the cloth that made up the back of the wagon. The air outside was frigid, and so the entire back was shielded completely from the world. Much like Charlotte was when she was absorbed in her reading.

"Yes?" she called back, noting for the first time that the wagon had stopped. There were footsteps, and suddenly the flap tied down at the back was flung open, and Charlotte yelped as a gush of icy air swam into the wagon. The sky was pitch black, the clouds hiding the moon and stars from view. Her father's bearded face appeared, and he let out a great roar of a laugh.

"Don't look so scared, Charlie, it's just a bit of cold air!"

"I am _not_ scared! You just caught me surprise, that's all," Charlotte grumbled, and rolled her eyes at her father's sly grin. He thought he was _so _clever! Well, he was actually quite clever, but Charlotte wasn't about to mention that. Better to keep his ego somewhat in check.

"And will you stop calling me that? I turned fifteen just last month, and I–"

Charlotte's rant was cut off mid-sentence, because her father reached in and scooped her out of the wagon, swinging her out and placing her on her feet. She sputtered up at him, and he patted her head affectionately.

"Tell you what. The day I can't pick you up with my own two arms, I'll stop calling you Charlie."

"But Papa, I can't get much bigger than this!"

"Then I guess it stays. It really is a shame, your mother chose such a pretty name for you!"

With that, her father moved past her to begin unloading the wagon. Livid, Charlotte turned to see that the wagon had stopped in front of a large town gate made of sturdy oak. The surrounding forest was still bereft of snow, but it was bitterly cold, and Charlotte pulled her shawl more tightly around her.

Several men were milling around, all unfamiliar. One of them was obviously the leader of the town, with a presence that clearly stated that he was in charge. His hair was speckled with gray, but he had the gait of a much younger man. Perhaps his hair had begun to lose its color prematurely – Charlotte had read about it in some of the scholarly journals her father collected for her.

"Edgar, good to have you!" the man boomed, his voice deep and commanding, and Charlotte's father smiled in return, reaching forward to clasp hands with the man.

"It's good to be here, Ulysses."

"You folks got lucky, arriving when you did. If you had delayed a day more, you would have been caught in the first snowstorm!"

Charlotte ducked out of the way, and spotted her mother carrying a basket of knitting and sewing materials. Charlotte pocketed her small book of poems, and ran to help her.

Abigail Williams was the daughter of a wealthy tradesman farther up north. Unlike her older sisters, who married so well that they didn't have to be much good at anything, Abigail specialized in knitting and sewing. She could make nearly anything, and did at a speed that seemed almost unreal.

"Mama, is this Burgess?" Charlotte asked, her irritation with her father melting at the prospect of having reached their final destination. Her mother nodded, some strands of her dark brown hair floating around her face as the breeze picked up.

"Yes it is. Isn't this town lovely, Charlotte? Much larger than the last one…" she huffed, and Charlotte hastened to relieve her mother of the load. The basket was heavy, and she staggered slightly before recovering. Her mother grabbed a lighter basket, and led her daughter through the gates. They loomed above the two women, and if she weren't focusing on keeping her hold on the basket, Charlotte would have looked up to see if the carvings extended to the underside as well.

The town was larger than the last one, sure, but not in an obvious way. Charlotte gazed around with a critical eye; her mother must have done some looking around, because from what Charlotte could see the town was quite small. The houses were like all the ones she had grown up with – simple log cabins, some with extensions making up separate rooms and some without. Each house had a small box garden, and since it was wintertime everything was withered and dead, waiting for spring.

The air was so dry and cold that moving through it was almost colder than standing still, like wading through a stream of ice-melt. Charlotte shivered, and was relieved when her mother made a sharp right turn. A cabin was stretched out before them, one of the ones with an extension for another room as well as a small barn for livestock. The orange-yellow glow of a fire could be seen through the windows.

Warmth hit Charlotte the instant the door opened, and she lugged the basket in with a sigh of happiness. The girl set down her basket off to the side, and stood to take a better look at their new home.

The floor was hardwood, which was quite a change from the floor Charlotte was accustomed to, and she instinctively tapped her booted foot against it, relishing the crisp clacking that filled the air. It was a studious sound, the sound that the Academy library must have.

There was a fire lit, the fireplace being a stone structure plastered together with mud and sticks. A simple dining room table was situated in the center of the room, with five wooden stumps serving as stools around it. A wooden counter was situated on the other side of the fireplace, and Charlotte's mother was already placing various pots and pans into the shelves below it. Several more cabinets adorned the wall above the counter, to store food as well as cooking ingredients.

A large straw pallet resided in the far corner, with a faded but colorful quilt spread over the length of it. Charlotte assumed that was her parents' bed, and looked around for a third mattress.

"Charlotte, your father and I have decided that you're responsible enough to have your own room. But you'll need to keep it clean, and it will be colder so you'll have to bundle up," her mother declared, gesturing to a wooden door that was to the immediate left of the larger front door.

"Oh Mama!" Charlotte squealed, and leaned over to kiss her mother's cheek before scrambling to investigate her new room. She pushed open the door, and beamed at the small space that she could call her very own. There wasn't much, but it was still lovelier than Charlotte could have ever imagined. A small wooden chest rested against one wall, where she could store her clothing, and a small vase of lavender adorned the chest. The sweet herbal smell filled the room, and Charlotte smiled in contentment.

There was a window just above the quilted cot, and the girl walked over to it, peering out at the village. From this window, she could see the town center and not much else. Then again, it was nighttime; several torches illuminated the town square, but their light only extended so far.

"Charlie!" her father called, and Charlotte quickly ran out of the room to continue unloading the wagon. The faster they worked, the sooner they could be done! Charlotte went as quickly as she could, and finally, a few hours later, everything was in place. The wagon was unhitched and dismantled, the horses were watered and safe in the stables, and the house was furnished and comfortable.

Too tired to cook any supper, the family soon retreated to their individual rooms. Charlotte quickly undressed and donned her nightgown, spreading an extra blanket before sliding into her new bed. It smelled of sweet straw, and Charlotte stared up at the dark sky as she waited for sleep to overtake her. As she watched, the clouds seemed to thicken, bunching together.

It began to snow, the white flakes swirling around like spinning tops on a table. They were so clear against the dark sky, and Charlotte smiled before snuggling deeper into the blankets. She had never liked the snow all that much, and so she was more than happy to turn away from the stuff and focus on falling asleep.

Charlotte closed her eyes, and before she knew it, it was morning.

It was just after dawn, and Charlotte had to take a moment to remember why she wasn't in her usual sleeping spot in the wagon. But then it all came back, and she grinned. No more wagons, no more temporary campsites! They were finally in Burgess!

Charlotte threw back her covers, cringing at the coldness of the room. She glanced outside, and grimaced at the blinding white layer of snow that covered everything. Moving quickly, she changed into one of her everyday dresses, and grabbed her scarf, thick wool coat and mittens before poking her head out of her room. Her parents were already dressed, but thankfully hadn't started chores yet, so Charlotte wasn't about to be scolded.

"If you need me, I'll be setting up my workshop in the barn out back," Charlotte's father said, touching his wife's shoulder briefly as he exited the cabin. Abigail smiled at him as he passed, and sat down to breakfast with Charlotte. As they ate their sausage and bread, Charlotte's mother began to speak.

"I spoke to Mrs. York last night, and she said that she would be willing to lend us one of her older butter churn. It's smaller, so it shouldn't be too heavy. She lives in a large house at the end of the main street with the name York carved into the gatepost."

With that task in mind, Charlotte finished her meal, and left the cabin. After taking a dozen steps, she regretted not grabbing her warm bonnet. But after a moment's pause, she decided that it was too much effort to go back and search through all of her luggage for it. So she trudged on, letting the cold breeze tousle her blonde hair and ducking her face into her scarf.

The town center was bustling with activity, as most of the townspeople were up and about doing chores and the like. Charlotte was a bit overwhelmed by the sheer amount of noise after weeks of only her mother and father for company, but couldn't help but smile at the presence of other people. Children ran by, laughing loudly as they chased each other, and Charlotte smiled fondly at their exuberance.

Her thick leather boots crunched the snow underfoot, and Charlotte watched puffs of smoke appear when she exhaled. Her hair whipped around her face with the wind, and she hurried down the main road, searching for the house her mother described.

Finally, she found it, and knocked on the sturdy oaken door. There was the sound of hurrying footsteps, and a plump woman opened the door, her face broad and kind.

"Oh, you must be Charlie! I'm Mrs. Yolk, I assume you met my husband Ulysses last night when you arrived? Your father came by earlier this morning, told me you'd be stopping by! Come in, come in," she exclaimed, and Charlotte stepped into the warm house.

The house was much more decorated than Charlotte's was, with many more carvings and rugs. When the girl breathed in, the smell of pine reached her nose, and it reminded her of Christmastime. It was November, so there was a good amount of time until then.

"So do you like your new home, dear?" Mrs. Yolk asked amiably, carrying the wooden butter churn over to where Charlotte stood.

"Yes ma'am. It's very nice," Charlotte replied politely, and glanced over to her right. There, sitting on the table, was a book. Forgetting herself, she drifted over to where it lay. It was an unfamiliar title, but the pictures of dragons and knights intrigued her more than anything else. The book was bound in the common way, but the drawings were in charcoal, obviously added by the buyer.

"You take after your father, I see. He had the exact same reaction you did to that book. It's called "Far Over The Hill", and it was my favorite when I was your age," Mrs. Yolk commented kindly, tracing the sinuous neck of the dragon with one finger. Her dark green eyes studied Charlotte for a moment, and the girl blinked when the book was pressed into her hands.

"Take it."

"Oh, no, ma'am, I couldn't!" Charlotte stammered, but Mrs. Yolk shook her head firmly, taking a step back.

"Please, it's my pleasure! Young girls need a bit of fantasy every now and then! Think of it as a welcoming present, from me to you. Now hurry along now, you're going to want to get home before the snow gets much worse. Tell your mother to visit me sometime soon."

"I will, ma'am, and thank you again!"

The cold greeted Charlotte eagerly, but she was so elated that she barely felt it. The book was tucked up against her chest, her free arm carrying the butter churn. The book she held was so different from the ones she usually enjoyed. Her father most often brought home books about science and philosophy, never before had he given her one concerning magic and such. Perhaps it was because Charlotte had never before taken interest in that sort of genre.

Either way, Charlotte was delighted, and couldn't wait until she finished all of her chores so she could begin to read it. She walked briskly, focusing on the road ahead of her and beaming all the way. Charlotte turned the corner to the path that led up to her cabin, and–

_Smack!_

Without warning, a ball of snow hit the side of her face, and she was sent sprawling into the snow. The book fell out of her hands, and the churn fell into a snowdrift. Charlotte gasped, propping herself up and wincing at the tenderness to her cheek where the snowball had hit.

The sound of laughter reached her ears, and she turned to see a small group of children standing in the backyard of the nearest house, giggling at the sight of her. One of the older boys was leaning against the fence, his light brown hair messily tousled by the wind, his expression oh-so-innocent. There was never any doubt; this boy was the one who threw that snowball, she just knew it!

Livid, Charlotte spat clumps of ice out of her mouth, but her anger was forgotten at the sight of her new book lying facedown in the snow. She grabbed it, and let out an anguished cry at the state of the drawings – they were so smeared by the water that they were beyond recognition. The once fierce dragon was a black blob of ink, and the brave knight was a shapeless form of lines and curves.

"I should have known…she's just a nasty nerd!" a voice drawled, and Charlotte looked up to see that her attacker was now sitting on the fence not five feet from her, skinny legs casually swinging back and forth. The other children gathered around, cheering him on and laughing amongst themselves.

Charlotte blinked back tears, and gathered up her book and butter churn, her face blotchy with the cold of the snow and from the heat of her embarrassment.

"I'd rather be a nerd than a damned _trickster_!" she cried, and ran all the way home, ignoring the jeers that followed her up the slope. Charlotte hated the tears that filled her eyes; she should have more control than this, she wasn't a kid anymore! Who cared what those children thought? She knew that she was smart; she knew it and she embraced it!

She burst into the cabin just as the snowfall began to fall in heavy sheets, and her mother rushed forward to collect the butter churn before examining her daughter.

"Charlotte, you're covered in snow! What on earth happened?

"I tripped, Mama, but I'm okay. I just wish I hadn't dropped Mrs. Yolk's present…look, she gave me a book!" she said, her voice shaking a bit. Her mother fussed over her for a few minutes more, and assured Charlotte that her father would be able to repair the book cover. Charlotte allowed herself to be soothed, and soon was helping her mother in organizing her sewing baskets.

Charlotte wasn't sure why she protected the brown-haired boy. All she knew was that she couldn't let him know that he had gotten to her. She wouldn't even try to learn his name; that would give him too much credit.

All she needed to know was that he was the most insufferable boy in all of Burgess, and if she was lucky, she would never have to associate with the likes of him ever again.

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**Hello everyone!**

**I know, I know, I have another RoTG story that I haven't completed, I KNOW.**

**But I saw this fantastic fanart about Jack's past life by Milady666 on deviantART (without the spaces, the url is - milady666 . deviantart art/past-memories-344356104) and I just HAD to write this. I'm basing my story on the fanart, but keep in mind that I'm only basing the OC's appearance on the fanart. Her name and personality is purely mine, as is the plot and other OCs I throw in there.**

**Also, please don't review telling me that I got some historical fact wrong or something like that. I'm basing most of my stuff from the Internet in terms of colonial customs. But let's be real, we're talking about a world in which a boy drowns and becomes freaking Jack Frost, where little hummingbird fairies collect teeth. I think you all can cut me some slack when it comes to historical accuracy. It's more about the story than the historical content.**

**AND FEAR NOT, "SKYLINE" FANS! This story actually ties in to Skyline, it'll all make sense in the end! =D**

**If you like this, and want to see more…**

_**PLEASE REVIEW!**_


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